Published at 9th of September 2025 12:24 pm

Book 5: Chapter 5 Replacement [Part 1]

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

In the name of the Goddess, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.

And the heavens wept, and in their sorrow was found the means to sweep away the den of perfidy that was Ansan. So the rains of the holy deluge descended without cease, washing away the sinners, cleansing them of their rejection of Avaria's Herald and Prophet, peace be upon him.

- The New Surahs by Cordelia de Aserac.

Finally giving up, I drew my friend's blood myself. One of the healers had wanted to do it, but I took the physician's place. They told me they needed to "make room" for other liquids, such as Health potions, they wished to force down his gullet as a last-ditch attempt to save his life. There was no hope in their eyes; they were only mechanically going about their duties. What hope did they have of success when I had failed?

At least this way, I would know when my friend passed from this world into whatever awaited him. Was there a digital version of heaven and hell for NPCs? A more guilty thought intruded: what if this was all real? As quickly as the thought came, I tried to push it down, attributing it to my grieving process... but why was I grieving if none of this was real? No, it wouldn't do me well to dwell on such thoughts, for down that road lay a path to dark madness.

Words intruded upon thoughts… Bringer of the Endtimes. A memory from a place long gone and distant. I shook my head, shedding the thought.

There was no therapy to be had here, no soft counseling from someone pretending to care. All I had was myself to push through this.

I would express whatever I felt in a healthy and productive manner. And... and... when the dust settled, I would pay the man the respect he deserved, I concluded to myself.

Smiling grimly, I ran a hand over Enkidu’s equipment. He must have taken a liking to the gear we had gotten for him in Ansan, for the general configuration remained similar, though a little heavier. Thicker and more protective. His heavy shield-gauntlet brought a bitter smile to my face; this one was made from a hardened monster’s shell and thick enamel. My smile grew more bitter as I remembered his original steel one and its maker. Perhaps she now lay beneath the waters of the great flood that had come to be the Grass Sea.

Maudlin thoughts, the kind old men indulge in. I’d have time enough to reminisce once this day’s business was done. For now, there was no more use for me in hoisting myself on my own petard. I left the room where my friend lay dying and picked up Enkidu’s hewing spear. Strange, the way it felt in my hands; just the right length for him, but in mine, it was almost a short pike. Ungraciously, the spear’s head nearly scraped the door as I left—a bad omen.

Or so I would have felt if I were a superstitious dolt.

As if reflecting my mood, dark and somber, the day seemed uncharacteristically dark for this hour. I heard a susurration and whispers of something from outside, but paid it little heed.

They tried to stop me. Farzan’s men, their armor shining and clean, warned me of the savage storm that had come—an unnatural tempest of sharp sand scouring the city in its manifest anger. The breath of the Djinn, they called it. I was tempted to simply push through, to see for myself the truth of their words, when I heard a scampering of feet accompanied by the clickety-clack of wood striking upon stone.

I turned around. Coming down the corridor was a woman approaching me at a brisk pace, followed by a bedraggled one-legged beggar on rickety wooden crutches. Without warning, she suddenly stopped and prostrated herself on the marble floor a spear’s length away from me, her head touching the cool stone. The beggar looked like he wanted to do the same but instead settled for a deep nod of his head.

It seemed the world had the temerity to conspire to stop me when all I wanted was to leave. If only I could forget her name—a thing my Identify spell would simply not allow, for that spell seared fact and raw truth into memory.

It was the girl whose incompetent brother I had killed at the Festival. She was Imani, who was once Melis. My holiness had changed the very fiber of her being.

With all the grace I could muster, I deigned to address her, giving an automatic and polite greeting. Inwardly, as I went over the words, I sneered because, for all that I had helped Imani, she would no doubt want something more. Everybody did...

"...the greatest joy in my life is serving you, Her Herald, your holiness," she prattled on, her gaze fixed on the floor, a small inflection in her voice forcing my attention back to the present.

"And how have you served me this day, Imani?" I asked, my voice flat and even. "And... how did you find me here?"

"As you have commanded, I have brought one who is deserving of your healing light. The Goddess guides my steps in all things," she answered matter-of-factly.

So this was how the game was justifying its scripted events, the holes in its narrative that would not make sense. The stars aligning and the convenience of it all. It was a miracle that this woman, with a pathetic beggar in tow, had somehow made it through the Salahaem estate right up to me... where skilled assassins and treachery had failed. In this, the game, the world, the system or whatever it was, would label this simply as Providence. Nothing more than the stars aligning in the correct conjunction.

A spike of rage, heavy and hot, threatened to overcome me. Like the prophets and holy men of yore, I mentally shook my fist at the heavens. Where was Providence when I needed it? Why were miracles wasted on wastrels like these? Why did my own miracles not work when I wanted them to? My friend had just crossed the Shallow River…

Truly vexed beyond belief, I was about to turn around, the electrical signals already being sent from my brain to my muscles, when, as if sensing my thoughts, it happened. A notification in bold script blazed its way across my inner vision, demanding in its message.

New Quest: Heal the Veteran of the Pale Wars

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